


The Cycle

by EphemeralSonder (MermaidMayonnaise)



Series: Poetry [8]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27276913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMayonnaise/pseuds/EphemeralSonder
Summary: There is a feeling that I can guarantee you have experienced.
Series: Poetry [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554895
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> Setting a random date since I don't actually know when this was written, just sometime before August 2018. 10.30.20

You. Hey, you, who’s reading this right now.

There is a feeling that I can guarantee you have experienced.

Have you ever finished a show, a book, a movie, and just sat there, staring, astonished that it’s _over_?

That that piece of art was so perfect you just wanted to mush it up and put it in your heart so it could be with you forever? 

But you can’t, because all good things must come to an end. If you truly love something then you must let it go.

Then you got so damn _angry_ , and hot stinging tears well up in your eyes because you loved this thing and now it’s over, finished, completed, and there’s no going back.

You sit there as the world continues hurtling through the endless expanse of space and civilization continues to exist, staring as your soul shatters into seven million jagged pieces.

And the end credits continue to scroll on the blinking screen, the theme music plays through your bitten headphones, and the blank page crinkles in your hands as you struggle to keep those tears from rolling down your cheeks.

The anger returns. Why are you so attached to moving pixels on a screen, to the ink smeared on the dried carcass of trees? Stories are a construction, a fictitious invention perfected over millennia.

They aren’t real, you think, palms scrubbing at your eyelids. Get over yourself.

But the feeling of sadness grows because you know, deep inside, that they _are_ real. 

Whether it’s a show, a series, or a worn book, you have grown along with these characters. You have experienced their adventures with them. You have lived their life. You _were_ them for an amount of time, those precious hours where you immersed yourself completely and utterly in their fantastical world.

By now, you have lived a hundred, a thousand, ten thousands of lives. And now yet another one has come to a close.

And so you carefully shut the book, close the tab, exit the story, wondering just how you can go on living as you once were able to do.

But... all things eventually come to pass.

Eventually you heal, and the scar of closure inside you becomes one that tells a story.

A story of sleepless nights, reading one more chapter or maybe just one more episode, I’ll go to bed in a minute, don’t worry.

A story of emotions; a story of adventure, love and loss.

A story of hot summer days curled up, watching a show while the waves tickle your feet, or the turning of yellowed pages blowing in the crisp autumn wind.

And eventually, you find that you can put the book down. You continue living your life. 

That love, that obsession? It becomes a part of you, and you’ll never regret it.

Not once.

Time passes; your shattered heart finishes its self-restoration.

And so, you tentatively pick up another book. Start another show. Snuggle up to another movie.

And watch, bittersweetly blissful, helplessly happy, as the cycle begins again.


End file.
